


Human

by girahimu_sama



Series: Post-Canon Thiefshipping Oneshots [5]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Post-Canon, Thiefshipping, almost character death?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girahimu_sama/pseuds/girahimu_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marik is critically injured and Bakura realizes just how fragile human life can be. Post-canon thiefshipping</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of just testing out how ao3 works with this. I thought up a sad post-canon headcannon (the post is on my tumblr) and had to write a ficlet for it. This kind of occurs in the same universe as another fic I'm going to put up here soon, which will cover how Bakura is brought back and stuff. I might do more post-canon oneshots to expand on said universe.

Bakura stood with the phone pressed to his ear, Ishizu's voice filtering in through the other end of the line.

“He's what?” He spoke so quietly he could barely hear himself.

His mouth felt drier than the desert. In an instant everything had gone from normal to a silent chaos raging in his head. He'd been at home (though it was more Marik's house than his; he just happened to live here too), waiting for his partner to return when the phone call had come. The last thing he'd expected was for Ishizu to be on the other end. The moment he'd answered he knew something was very, very wrong.

“A car hit him,” she said. He could tell she was trying to keep her voice controlled, but even she couldn't keep the tremor from shaking her words. “He's in the emergency room right now. I...”

There was a pause, another voice in the background. Rishid was saying something in the background when Ishizu had gone quiet. Words of comfort maybe. Bakura could hear her sob, concern for her little brother causing the proud Ishtar visage to slip. “I don't know if he'd going to make it. He's lost a lot of blood and his vitals are...”

“I'll be there soon.” He said flatly when she trailed off, hanging up and letting his hand drop to his side.

For a while he just stood there staring at the wall, trying to process everything that had just occurred in the past two minutes. He'd been sitting at home watching some stupid program, and then Marik was at risk of dying. It didn't seem real. It felt like he was in a dream, detached from reality. Everything in the apartment looked deceptively normal, but Marik wasn't here. He was elsewhere, in a room, bleeding out while doctors worked to rescue him. There was a chance he wouldn't come back

There was a chance he would be gone within a matter of moments.

Bakura didn't remember leaving the apartment and impatiently calling a cab, snarling at the driver to take him to the hospital.

...

Ishizu and Rishid were in the waiting room when he arrived. Ishizu sat with her fingertips pressed to her forehead, Rishid beside her with a comforting hand at her back. Rishid looked up and nodded solemnly to him in acknowledgement. Bakura figured it would still be a while before they got the verdict and that made him bristle with anxiety.

For the next couple of hours he paced back and forth, sat down for a while, paced some more. He growled at one of the staff when they told him he needed to settle down. The aura he gave off must have been murderous. What few other people there were in the room eyed him warily. But he complied, only because he didn't want to be thrown out.

The other two Ishtars regarded him with sympathy. Bakura was grateful Ishizu had called him. She hadn't approved very much of him at first, and was even more sceptical of her brother's association, but enough time had passed that her opinions had shifted. As long as Marik seemed content with him, she could be content. Rishid never judged him so harshly. He knew empty comfort would do nothing for Bakura, so he merely offered a respectful silence.

It was torturous waiting. If there was one feeling he never wanted to experience again, it was helplessness. Suddenly he was a child again, back in ruined village, waiting for the soldiers to leave, waiting for the screaming to stop. The smell of death sat heavy in his nostrils once more and he slapped a hand to his mouth, choking. He abruptly stood up and rushed to the bathroom, throwing open a stall and vomiting.

When he returned, one of the doctors was speaking to the two Ishtar siblings. He felt like he was going to be sick again, whether good news or bad news. Crossing the room felt like it took forever. Relief like he'd never known flooded through Bakura's chest when the doctor said Marik was going to be alright and that he was now stable enough for visitation.

But he hung back and let Ishizu and Rishid go before him as he stood numbly out in the hall. He said he wanted to be alone with Marik and they hadn't questioned him further. He could barely hold himself together as it were, he didn't want an audience when he finally cracked.

When it was his turn he entered the room and shut the door behind him, leaning on it for a moment. He felt nauseous, the sterile smell of the hospital not helping at all. Marik lay in the bed, looking absolutely pathetic, a neck-brace supporting his head, a cast on what was clearly a broken left arm. Bandages covered his torso, an iv drip hooked into him, machinery monitoring his vitals. It looked so wrong, so out of place.

In the past Marik had held himself like he were a god, but now he was anything but. It had never occurred to him before just how _human_ he truly was, human and _fragile_. Bakura had existed as an ageless spirit, detached from mortality for millennia, but seeing this was like a slap to the face. The air left him like he'd been punched in the gut and he briefly doubled over.

Marik's eyes had been closed, but they slowly opened and flickered over to Bakura. Bakura straightened up, angry now because of the moron that had put Marik in this pitiful state.

“I swear I'll kill the fucker that hit you,” he said softly, condensed murder in his tone. Marik blew a small puff of air out of his nose, not quite a laugh. It made Bakura angrier, hands balling into fists – did Marik not think he was being serious?

“Good to see you too, Bakura.” Marik said, voice hoarse. Then taking notice of the tension in the other male's body, he frowned. “You okay?”

“No,” Bakura answered curtly. He briskly walked over and took a seat in the chair beside the hospital bed. “And take a look at yourself before you ask me that.”

Marik snorted, lips curling up in that infuriating smirk of his. It always pissed Bakura off, but never as much as it did now. “Well, I'm not dead, am I?”

Bakura couldn't take it anymore, gnashing his teeth together and making a low whine in his throat. He would have slapped the other male if Marik hadn't almost just died. Marik _didn't get it. He didn't get it._

He never lost control of his emotions like this. They were always hidden behind a wall, but now that wall had crumbled and he was left with nothing but the ache. He only had himself to blame for it because he realized that he _cared_ too much and he promised himself that he wouldn't grow attached to anyone ever again. After the slaughter of his people, he couldn't handle it. Connections would only cause him pain, especially when they broke, like this one was doing right now.

“You're an idiot and I hate you.” He hated the quiver in his voice more as he spat the words out. He grabbed at his hair, squeezing so hard it hurt. “Don't fucking smile at me like that, you don't know how much I–!”

Bakura threw himself forward, half collapsed over the edge of the bed, fingers clenching at the stiff white sheets. “Fuck! Goddammit, Marik!”

“Bakura...” Marik spoke softly. Bakura shook his head, still keeping it buried in his arms. He knew he was the one that looked pathetic now, but he couldn't help it. His chest felt like a hand had encircled it, squeezing ragged breaths from his lungs. He realized with chagrin that he was sobbing.

“I can't, I can't, I cant–” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the way they stung. He hadn't cried since the night of the massacre, he hadn't thought himself capable of doing so, but then he felt wetness rub off onto his arms. It was absolutely humiliating. “I can't watch anyone else be taken from me. You don't understand, I don't know what I would have done if you died!”

He felt a touch at his arm, Marik's hand creeping over to clasp over his. Bakura lay there, trying to regulate his breathing back down to a less embarrassing level. It was a long time until either of them spoke again.

“I'm alright. It will take more than this to kill me.” Marik said finally, giving Bakura's fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I'm not going anywhere.” He paused, and then Bakura did a double take because it didn't register the first time Marik said it. “I love you.”

Bakura looked up in surprise. And then his mouth twitched and he wiped his face the sleeve of the hand Marik wasn't holding, hiding his abashed smirk.

“Shut up, you fucking bastard.”

 


End file.
